Of Course He'd Have A Diary
by Cigarettes-and-Knives
Summary: In which Conrad keeps a journal on his laptop, and he rants about Worth. Yeah, Failpire definitely needs a stronger PC password.


**Well, guys. I'm not particularly sure as to what this IS exactly. I mean, it's Conrad's laptop journal, but I think this is all that I'm doing of it. So it more than likely won't be a series unless I can think of something else, or maybe you guys will request something.**

**It doesn't necessarily have to be a journal entry. This may turn into a big thing of ConWorth one-shots or drabbles. Might not. Oh well. **

**I hope you guys enjoy this piece of crap! :3 **

_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Hanna is Not a Boy's Name or any of its characters. This is purely fanfiction written for others' entertainment. I am making no profit off of this whatsoever._

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><p><strong>Entry 44-<strong>

'He's disgusting,' I think to myself as I watch him blow a smoke ring into the air. I'm not wrong when I think that. He is, in fact, revolting, and society would probably be better without him.

He's a repugnant back-alley, sorry excuse for a 'doctor.' He shaves probably twice a month, at the most, and I think that bathing is a foreign thing to him. Depriving himself of sleep has made those hideous black rings that surround his eyes, and they make those suspicious things even more beady-looking. He washes his clothes, surprisingly, where; I don't know. His abominable jacket, however, almost never leaves his person and it's probably even more revolting than he is.

And that's just part of his appearance. I haven't even started on his _personality._ He's foul, with lazy speech that makes him sound like a dying, cancerous, rabid raccoon from Australia. He's the bane of my existence and his soul purpose in life is to make _my_ life a living hell; of this I'm sure. Half of the curse words in my vocabulary, I've heard from him, and he can't go two words without throwing an obscenity in there somewhere.

I may sound like quite the pessimist right now, but in actuality, _he's _the one who seems to hate everyone and everything.

…I think things like this, and I wonder how I could've possibly _settled_ for this rude, despicable, obnoxious rat.

Sure, Conrad, go ahead and bite the man. That will take you to great places! You'll be the bee's knees if you slurp up this foul-tasting man's blood! Dear God, what was I _thinking_ that day? Was I that hungry? That _desperate_? I can't remember a lot from that day, considering I must have been as hungry as I think I was. The bastard didn't have any blood packs, and Grease-face wouldn't be there until the next day for another delivery. He coaxed, he goaded, and he teased. He wouldn't leave me alone. I got so _livid_ that I finally just…bit him.

I will never admit that he tasted good. He only tasted tolerable because I was practically starving to death. He tasted like unknown drugs that I will never try (unless they are in his blood), and nicotine. It was bitter and disgusting…for the most part.

He really enjoyed that bite to the jugular. Damned masochist. The groan from him evolved into more groans, then shifting, and I was lost in nothing but blood.

And… it went downhill at full-speed into revolting things from there.

It turned into a monthly thing, which I hated, to a weekly thing that I tolerated, to an almost daily thing that I …_craved_.

It was just sex. Nothing to freak out about (after I got over the fact that ohdeargodsexwithWORTH). I never knew that we'd end up talking about things, and that we'd actually _agree_ on certain things, and that his nicknames for me would turn into terms of endearment.

If I knew that there would be all of this baggage and shit involved back then, I would have chosen to starve to death. Neither of us has actually voiced this relationship, except for that one time the bastard called me his boyfriend in an obnoxious way, followed by him mocking my voice. Hanna has, of course, known about this. We never had to tell him. He's Hanna; the brat seems to know too much despite his appearance.

We argue; playful banter that we both know is never really serious; not like it used to be before this…thing. Back then, we'd seriously fight, and it'd turn into bare-knuckles, knees, and anything else we could use in less than three minutes flat. Now, if we do seriously fight, it just turns into tongues and biting and off to the back room we drag each other.

Sometimes we talk about shit. Serious shit. And he doesn't seem to take it as seriously as I think he should. But then again, I have to remember that I'm dealing with the one and only: horrid, Luce Worth. I tell him that I always dreamt of marrying a nice girl and maybe have kids if she wanted them; that's what my mother wanted as well. We both actually laugh at how I ended up indefinitely gay with an illegal underground doctor who cuts himself for laughs and thinks that nicotine equals oxygen. My mother, I think, would send to me to every psychiatrist in the country (though I think she already has) and then lock me up in a yellow padded cell.

I hate, hate, and hate to admit it, but I'm happy with this good-for-nothing. I got all this baggage from this relationship and he won't admit it, but he did too. I think that if it wasn't me, and he actually fell for a decent girl, he'd do some actually boyfriend-like things. But of course, since I'm Count Fagula, he has to, by an unspoken law; make my life a living hell every six consecutive minutes. Not that I mind.

Anyway, like I was saying, we talk about serious shit. We're getting old. Well, Hanna and Worth are anyway. Veser's no longer in high school and Toni is mostly off doing her own little thing. Me and the zombie are unchanging. I seriously sat down and thought about this the other day. The 'doctor' will go gray without me. He'll probably die sooner than most due to all of the stupid shit he does, but then again, the same can be said for Hanna.

I asked Worth: "What do I do when you die?" He sat there and genuinely stared at me for a moment, thinking. He smirked, leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his weak desk.

"Nuffin'." Was his response.

He doesn't want me to turn him into a vampire. I had to leave after we discussed that. I had to go back to my apartment and stare off into space, or furiously splatter something on a canvas. I did this, but I soon after ripped the canvas into pieces, yelling and I then trashed my apartment.

_He doesn't want me to turn him into a vampire._

Well what the fuck do I _do_ then? He's just going to _die. _I think he'd seriously kill me all over again if I went against his wishes but…what do I _do_?

The zombie won't be able to go on without Hanna. That much is certain. Once Hanna is gone, nothing will tie that undead man to this planet. And it hurt me so badly to realize that I will have nothing as well once my repulsive doctor is gone.

I decided that, after a week of being locked in my apartment without anyone or anything but bags of blood and worried texts from Hanna that I would perish with him. Maybe I'd get Toni to drive a stake through me or something.

I'd never drink anyone else's blood but his anyway. And once Lamont is gone, who do I get blood from then? I will die young. Young for a vampire especially.

I've come to this conclusion and I am fine with it. I know that Worth doesn't want to carry on his miserable routine for hundreds of years. He'd end up causing the apocalypse or some shit just because he'd be bored. I don't want him to carry on for hundreds of years for my own selfish reasons.

I will die with him, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Because he, undoubtedly, is what I live for (almost literally).

**Entry 45-**

Hey Connie. Nice diary you got here on your lil' laptop. Tis a nice read butcha got a few typos here an there. Try'n fix that. If you sold this, maybe you could make a buncha money like that twilight shit or whatever it is.

Get a better password,

-Doctor Luce Worth.


End file.
